FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

Razmatazz

Here is the promised Rorate chapter from the poll a little while back!

 

Many monsters are created from the drifting essences of a dungeon’s magic. But many more are simply drawn into the area by its presence alone. While most creatures that are attracted to a dungeon are pulled there by hunger or greed, some simply wander out of sheer curiosity.

While not all that common, it has been seen before that a wandering monster would come to join a dungeon’s repertoire.

These can range from simple forest creatures, such as goblins or slimes, all the way to the exotic.

There is a famously documented case in which the world’s only known leviathan hydra wandered all the way to an undead-themed dungeon in the northwest. For whatever reason, it took a liking to the area and has stayed there to this day, unslain, despite not fitting in at all with the other denizens of the dungeon.

We can only assume why creatures would undergo such shifts in their lifestyle. To this day, there is no clear explanation for this behavior.

Finally, there have been recorded instances of witches and necromancers joining forces with dungeons. But these have never revealed their secrets and stories of their lives, taking them with them as they vanished into either their graves or obscurity.

 

~ An elven wanderer’s take on dungeons, page eleven.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower, Roost

 

Rorate sits and scribbles into her notes down at a small table. Moonwash falls over her from the darkened sky as she works outside, beneath the total cover of the summer night. Its soft glow reflects off of her gray skin, painting it blue; her white hair, painting it much the same. The moonlight softens her, evens her out, and makes the many shades of her form become more homogeneous.

 

She stops her work, looking up toward the night sky for a moment. It is warm outside and very pleasant to work in. Tonight is one of those nights where she finds that she can simply get no sleep.

 

Isaiah and the uthra are at rest in the tree, and just about everyone else is asleep in their homes. The adventurers have mostly left the tower, barring a few night-owl parties, who are down in the lower regions.

 

This leaves only her and the stars to continue her work. Or… well, her hobby.

 

— Rorate looks down at her notes and then sets her pen down, and calmly closes the book.

 

The dark-elf leans back on her chair, the water of the hot-springs up atop the tower trickling next to her. Her eyes wander over to it.

 

What a strange thing life is, no?

 

Back then, during the spring, she had come out to the forest by herself to die. Instead, she found something other than death, the total opposite of it, in fact.

 

One of the uthras stirs and kicks in her troubled sleep. Beige lies dangling over the sides of the branch of the very-big-tree, somewhat precariously. Rorate watches as the uthra on the branch next to her, Magenta, flies over and hoists the uthra back into her nest, and then lays down next to her to stop Beige’s fidgeting and fighting against the darkness.

 

Community.

 

The dark-elf can’t help but notice that this is what she had been missing in her old life, in the time before this all. In her old life, she was just…

 

“— Hey,” says a voice from behind her. Rorate turns her head, looking at the elf, the priestess Scion. The woman has a blanket wrapped around herself and yawns, looking as if she had shuffled out of her warm bed like an undead, risen from the grave. “You still up?”

 

Rorate nods. “Yeah. Just one of those nights. What’s up?”

 

Scion rubs her tired eyes. “Nothing. I just saw you sitting out here by yourself. I thought maybe something was wrong.” The elf yawns, flopping down on the grass next to the chair, and leans her head against Rorate’s side, closing her eyes again.

 

— In her old life, she was just alone.

 

Rorate looks back at her journal and her fingers running over its leather cover as she feels a face squish itself against her thigh as Scion seems to nest herself down on the ground next to her.

 

In that old life, she could sell everything she owned, destroy all evidence of her having ever existed by throwing it into the river, she could wander the dark forests in search of the witch Perchta, in order to make a bargain for a peaceful way to end her life, and then, even for days, work on doing just that, and all the while, nobody, not a single soul, had noticed.

 

Nobody had missed her. Nobody ran after her. Nobody lectured her. Nobody even looked at her. She was just a passing shadow, a figure that walks by in the stage performances of everyone’s life as a background actor, but never one with a speaking role.

 

And yet, here she is now, not even able to sit outside on a warm summer’s night without someone being at least curious.

 

She wonders what it is?

 

Rorate looks down at Scion, who seems to have fallen asleep again, given her somewhat squished cheek and the hint of an open mouth.

 

What is it that changed to allow this? Was it she herself who has changed? Did she become a different person, one who is simply more compatible with the concept of fitting into others' lives? Or was it the environment? Is it because of Isaiah and the tower that she has been forced into a situation where compatibility and communication are essentially unavoidable? Or was it just luck that she was in the right place at the right time?

 

She rubs Scion’s hair, wondering. The elf mumbles but continues to sleep.

 

Or maybe it’s just… because she’s allowed herself to put in the effort? She learned to swim, as the metaphor goes. The water, the river, it was always there. She was always next to it. But she never took the time to understand how to move in it.

 

Maybe life is like that?

 

Maybe everyone is in it. But not everyone takes the time to learn to swim and to move with the current.

 

She smiles and nods. That seems like a good explanation. She’ll make a note on that somewhere in her sermons.

 

“Come on,” says Rorate, nudging Scion to groggy wakefulness. “Let’s call it a night,” says the dark-elf, as the resting Scion looks up at her, almost offended at having been woken up again. Rorate grabs her journal and blows out the candle, then gets up and helps Scion to her feet.

 

“Wanna sleep over?” asks Scion, yawning and nodding to her house on the side of the roost.

 

“Sure,” replies Rorate and the two of them shuffle off towards a small, comfortable place of safety and shelter, a grotto along the embankment of the river of life.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower, Floor Three

 

It is the next morning.

 

“What have you come to repent?” asks Rorate, the fabric of her hood covering her face. She is sitting inside of a confessional.

 

“Sister… I have done wrong,” says the man’s voice on the other side of the curtain. “I was with my party in the tower, and, well, I was scouting ahead,” he explains.

 

“I see, go on,” says Rorate.

 

“Well…” There’s a silence for a while. She listens intently, her sensitive ears picking up the fidgeting of the man’s thumbs and the soles of his boots, sliding across the stones as he moves his feet. “I found a treasure chest, and I opened it by myself,” he admits, his voice already destressing as he says it. “I thought it’d just be some junk, so I peeked to be sure. But…”

 

“But?”

 

“But it was this really good talisman,” he explains. “I took it and I left everything else inside and relocked the box. When we got there, I just pretended it was a normal garbage chest like any other.”

 

“And the talisman?” asks Rorate.

 

“Sold it,” explains the man. “To the general store down below the tower.”

 

“I see,” replies Rorate. “You understand the wrong you did, so why did you do it?” she asks.

 

“I… I dunno,” replies the voice. “Hey, I gotta go,” he says, getting up immediately and walking away from the confession. Rorate sits there, listening to him leave.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower, Quarters

 

It is later on.

 

“I’m telling you, Te-te,” says Rorate, looking at Teal. “I swear I’m not eating more than usual, but it’s just…” Rorate looks down at her priestess’ robes, which have begun to become a little more snug day by day. “- It needs a little adjusting.”

 

Teal buzzes around her. “This is the second time.”

 

Rorate frowns. “I don’t know why.”

 

“It’s probably Red’s cooking,” replies Teal, taking some measurements.

 

“It’s the best, isn’t it?” asks Rorate, sighing contentedly. “She’s like magic.”

 

“Mhm.” Teal nods, a needle in his mouth. “Magic comes at a price,” explains the uthra, pulling on the tight fabric around her body. “I’m having the same issue with all of you humans,” explains the uthra. “I need to talk to Red. She’s killing me with all of this work.”

 

“Human?” asks Rorate. “Te-te, I’m a dark-elf,” she says, blinking in confusion.

 

“Huh? Oh, don’t mind that,” says Teal. “We just like to group you all together as a catch-all. It makes it easier, you know?” he asks, sticking a needle through her robe from his mouth. “Hold still.”

 

It takes a while, but the adjustments are made, and Rorate finds herself breathing easier in her robes again.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower Grounds, River

 

It is later on.

 

Rorate floats on her back in the water of the river.

 

It’s somewhat risky, since the disciples of Isaiah are usually never outside of the tower, but she’s just wearing her normal clothes outside. The river is often quiet anyway, given that it’s behind the graveyard, which most people avoid. Although they’re mostly off now, given the difficulty of swimming in a full outfit.

 

“So, what do you think?” she asks, turning her head to the side and looking at the melusine who floats along with her, both of them being carried down-stream by the current of the river. Warm summer sunlight cascades down around them, as they travel together with the forest birdsong. “Is today the day?”

 

The snakelike, black-haired woman with a pale face thinks for a moment and then nods.

 

“Really?!” asks Rorate. The melusine, her friend, hasn’t nodded to the question before. It was always just head shakes.

 

The melusine, somewhat surprised by her excitement, lowers her face halfway beneath the water of the river but then nods again.

 

Rorate, excited, floats down off of her back and swims instead.

 

Something holds her hand beneath the water, and the two of them dive beneath the surface of the river as their hunt continues. The hunt for a rare and precious treasure that can be found nowhere else. It’s very important that she finds it, not for the tower or for Isaiah, but for herself.

 

The dark-elf holds her breath and narrows her eyes as the two of them swim down below, scanning the river-bed for what they are looking for together.

 

— A rock.

 

An amazing rock.

 

A rock that can beat Beulah’s.

 

It’s got to be here somewhere.

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower, Floor Three

 

It is later on.

 

Rorate sits in the confessional.

 

“Sister?” asks a voice. “Are you there?”

 

Rorate looks up, hearing the voice of the man from yesterday, the one with the talisman story. “I’m here,” she replies.

 

The man shuffles for a moment, somewhat awkwardly, and then makes his way back to his side of the booth. “What have you come to repent?” she asks.

 

“Nothing. I mean… nothing new. It’s about yesterday.”

 

“The talisman?” she asks.

 

“Yeah…” replies the man. She can hear him rubbing his shoulder. “I think, well, no. My excuse is that I struggled for a long time,” he explains. “You know how it is out there when you’re low level and alone.”

 

“I do,” remarks Rorate.

 

“It’s eat or get eaten, and you take every chance you can get to survive, and, well, I think even now that I’ve grown past that stage… It’s hard to not still think like that, you know?” he asks. Rorate nods, listening. “I know I don’t need the Obols to survive now, but… when I opened that box and I saw it, I just… that old voice kicked back in again.”

 

“What did it say?” she asks, her finger running over her journal.

 

The man is quiet for a moment. “That I had to take it. I’m alone here. It’s just me, looking out for me,” he explains. “If I don’t take it, they will, and then I’m going to be… I dunno, hungry or something.” He thinks for a moment, his boots shuffling over the stones. “There’s nobody here looking out for me. I’m alone,” he repeats.

 

“Do you think that’s true now?” she asks.

 

The man is silent again. “No. They’re… they’re good people. I’ve never had friends before, you know?”

 

“I’m happy for you,” remarks Rorate.

 

“Thank you, Sister. It’s just, well…”

 

“Well what?” she asks.

 

The man fumbles with his hands. “I can’t help but think that this is all just… fake,” he explains. “I was alone for so long, you know? By myself. It was just me and the monsters for as long as I can remember, and now, this… this thing, this whole having friends thing, it feels like it’s just… an illusion.” He sighs. “I feel like this is only a short break and then, any minute now, I’m going to fall right back down to where I started, alone, by myself.”

 

Rorate nods, thinking. “Mm… Do you think that you belong there?” she asks. “Or do you think that you belong here with them? To them?”

 

“I… I think… I don’t know,” he replies. “I think so. But what do I do, Sister? I want to tell them,” he says. “But… I’m scared of what happens if I do. They’ll hate me for stealing. They’ll throw me out, and I’ll be alone again.”

 

Rorate stares down at her notes, her finger running over the grooves in the journal. “I think you may have been setting yourself up for this trap,” replies Rorate.

 

“Huh?”

 

She looks over at the curtain. “I don’t think that you stole that talisman out of greed,” she explains. “I think you stole it so that you could set yourself up to fail,” explains the woman. “If you do something bad and then they cast you out for it, then you’ll go back to where you think you belong,” says Rorate. “You’re not after money, so there’s only one reason left.”

 

The man is silent.

 

“Do you think you’re not good enough to be around other people?” she asks.

 

“No, honestly,” he replies without much hesitation.

 

Rorate nods, fitting her final theory together. “You did the wrong thing for the wrong reason,” she says. “You harmed your friends in an attempt to harm yourself.” The man says nothing, but she hears that his fidgeting and shuffling have stopped. “Your sin isn’t greed. It’s wrath.”

 

The man exhales for a while, letting out a deeply held breath. “What do I do?”

 

“I can hardly tell you to start loving yourself,” says Rorate. “But find a way to make peace with yourself at least. If not for you, then for the people you care about.” She taps her notebook. “Use the money to repay your friends for their efforts, and then never do this again.”

 

“So… I shouldn’t tell them?”

 

Rorate looks down at her journal. “Everyone has secrets,” explains the woman. “Nobody is perfect, and we all make mistakes,” she says, opening it up to look at its first pages, covered in scrawls of home-made poison recipes and of dangerous, deadly places nearby — all of which she was too cowardly to use during her moment of weakness. “Isaiah says that we are imperfect, strange creatures. The best that we can do is to try our hardest so that we and the people who we love can survive the winters of life and return to see the next spring together.”

 

“Even if that means dishonesty?” he asks.

 

Rorate closes her journal. “Closing an old chapter of your life and starting a new one isn’t dishonesty. In the name of Isaiah, I forgive you this once,” she says. “But if you ever steal or harm yourself again, I will not forgive you a second time.” She gets up from her seat. “Understand that life is precious and short. Stop wasting it by thinking you deserve to be miserable. You don’t.”

 

 

~ [Rorate] ~
Dark-Elf, Female, Fighter + Field-medic Location: The Tower, Roost

 

Rorate sits on the edge of the roost, high atop the tower.

 

It is later that day.

 

“Be mindful, Rorate,” says Isaiah, walking over to her. “The edge is a dangerous place to be.”

 

Rorate smiles, looking over her shoulder at Isaiah. Her legs are dangling off of the tower as she leans back on the grass with her palms behind herself, shaking her head, and then looking back towards the horizon. “Don’t worry. I’m fine,” she says. “I’m just enjoying life.”

 

“I see,” replies Isaiah, squatting down next to her. The two of them stare off into the distant world.

 

The warm summer’s wind, as is always present atop the roost, billows her white hair past her shoulders, moving it with such free and boundless grace — dancing as do the rays of ruby sunlight cresting in the distance.

 

“Can I tell you something?” asks Rorate, looking at Isaiah. “Something bad?” she asks.

 

Isaiah tilts its head, looking at her. “You may tell me whatever color of word is on your heart, Rorate,” says Isaiah.

 

Rorate looks back toward the distance. “Before all of this, I didn’t actually use to be an adventurer,” she admits. “I earned my living by hurting people,” explains the dark-elf. “I was a bandit with some others out in the forest, near the smaller villages,” she says.

 

“I see,” replies Isaiah.

 

The elf nods. “I hurt a lot of people, and… well, eventually it looped back around to me, you know?” she asks. “Some stuff happened, and I kind of… lost it, and I had a whole crisis.” She looks over her shoulder at Isaiah. “That’s when I came to the forest to die.”

 

Isaiah nods and then looks back out over the world. “A garden watered with blood will perhaps grow, but it will eventually produce only poison fruit,” remarks Isaiah. Rorate quietly gasps. That’s one for the journal. “If there is any lesson I have learned in this life, Rorate, it is this — Mistakes are boundless. We will make them every single day in abundance. Even I - No. Especially I.”

 

“So what do we do?” she asks.

 

“We use water,” replies Isaiah. “Not blood. One day, then,” it says, looking back over towards the sunset together with her. “The fruit of our gardens will be sweet and whole, as was intended from the start.”

 

Rorate nods, watching the sun set and feeling the winds around herself.

 

The river of life has brought her to a kind place, to a peaceful garden, where the air and the fruit, and the totality of her absolute existence, have all become simple, clean, and whole things. Something so simple, yet impactful to existence — nourishment.

 

Her life, which was previously devoid of such a thing, is now full of it in total abundance.